


a study in slow death

by butchersmiles



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Sherlock (TV), original character - Fandom
Genre: F/M, and everyone is kind of irritated with each other the whole time, but fuck it, it's all kind of sad, just kind of borrowing the hunger games universe here, sherlock and john are mostly side characters but they get a bit of time in the spotlight, the rest are just sort of used as tributes, they're all idiots, this is very self indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2020-12-17 12:15:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21054233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butchersmiles/pseuds/butchersmiles
Summary: The odds weren't in her favor. They never were, really.-Lia Shonley, age sixteen, District Seven. Female tribute in the seventy-third Games.Jasper Moran, age eighteen, District Seven. Male tribute in the seventy-third Games.Jim Moriarty. Cold, cunning victor of the sixty-seventh Games. Soft spot for the pyromaniac female tribute.Liv Moran. Last year's Victor, this year's co-mentor. Jasper Moran's older sister.Sebastian Moran. Estranged from his family, been trying to forget District Seven ever since he escaped to the Capitol. This year's Games master.Let the Games begin.





	1. oh, the odds

**Author's Note:**

> this story is highly self-indulgent, and i don't expect anyone to read it, but if you do... hi?

The odds weren’t in her favor.

They never were, really.

They hadn’t been when she had burned the house to the ground, and they certainly weren’t now, not on the reaping day.

Her name wasn’t in nearly as many times as some people on the poorer side of the District, but it was in enough. She didn’t have any family to provide tesserae for, but food was strictly rationed in the government home. It would be nice to have some extra grain and oil. To go to bed with a full belly for once.

And, really, would it make her any more likely to be chosen, when there were so many names, so many times in that bowl?

She would be alright. Really, she would, she would, she really, really would.

-

The Reaping was a grand affair because it had to be. Miss Maylong was dressing the girls up in the finest dresses that could be found in their dusty closets. Lia’s Reaping clothes had all burned in the fire, so she wore one of Miss Maylong’s old dresses, a drop-waist yellow sundress. It was far too bright for the occasion. She stood in a crowd of nervous teens dressed in all black and felt horribly out of place.

She didn’t have friends to stand with, and not even the other girls from Miss Maylong’s home wanted to stand with the fire girl, so she was all alone, pressed into the barrier for the sixteens. If she turned her head, she could see the older girls to the side of her, the seventeens and eighteens who were all dressed for mourning, so nervous their name might get called when they were so close to being free.

Free as anyone could get in a place like Panem, anyway.

She watched Dixie Lascius, District Seven’s chaperone, teeter her way up the steps. It had been a game, before the fire, for Lia and Jamie to guess what eccentric Capitol fashions Dixie would try to bring in. It didn’t seem so funny anymore, standing all alone. Nothing felt funny anymore.

The population listened half-heartedly to the same speech about the Dark Days. The reason they were all here. The reason their children had to kill each other every year. She wasn’t sure, but it almost seemed like Jim Moriarty smiled, just a little bit.

And then it was time. Dixie trilled, “Ladies first!”, and stuck her hand into the bowl. There were so many names, so many slips, so many chances. Lia wasn’t worried, not one bit. Her mind floated to thoughts of tomorrow, all the work she had to do. All the things left to be finished.

The crowd drew in a breath at the name Dixie read off. What poor sucker had gotten called up this year? Maybe one of the twelves. Those always got plenty of pity. Well, best of luck to the girl, but Seven had only two Victors, and that Moran girl had been a fluke.

But—no one was making their way up the risers, to stand next to Dixie, to catch a train to the Capitol, to die at the hands of another child. No one was moving, but everyone was looking. A whole District with their eyes, looking at Lia, and—

Oh.

_Oh_.

And, yes, she saw her face on the screen, caught a glimpse of her stunned expression before she remembered to close her mouth. Made herself walk. Joined the Victors on the stage.

The applause seemed so much louder up here. Everything was very loud, wasn’t it? It was all so loud, and this is how it had been, right before the heat—her hands twitched, she ached for a match—didn’t anyone else smell all that _smoke_—?

Dixie was congratulating her and some boy, some broad-shouldered blonde boy, some boy who knew how to use axes and blades, some boy who could split her in half like he had split logs all his life, some boy she would have to fight just to stay alive—

A Peacekeeper grabbed her arm and took her off the stage, and she wanted to fight back, but everything felt so numb, so strange, so far away. There were no words, there were no tears. Just a quiet disbelief, and a small thought of how would she ever get this yellow sundress back to Miss Maylong?

She was on a couch. A nice one. It was velvet, maybe, but she wasn’t so sure. Jamie would have known. She was always so good with those things. She wasn’t sure why she was, or where, or how, exactly, but she was on the couch.

“Where am I?” she asked the Peacekeeper. His eyes were the color of steel, sharp like the axes she feared in her future, and he seemed to hesitate before answering.

“City Hall. Before you go to the Capitol, your friends and family are permitted to say their goodbyes.”

He turned away, suddenly fearing he might have said too much, and looked to the ground. She was dangerous and wild and he knew it. Had seen her face all over the news.

She wasn’t getting any visitors, she was almost certain of that. No one would come to see her. There wasn’t anyone left. Not that she knew of, anyway. Instead, she got off of the nice couch, and walked around the room. It was big and lavish in a way she wasn’t used to seeing when she wasn’t looking at the screen, and if she was going to die soon, she might as well learn to savor the small things. She was studying delicate flowers on the wallpaper when she heard the voices from the room over and pressed her ear to the wall.

“It isn’t _fair_, Jim!” the hysterical girl shrieked. Lia vaguely recognized the voice as Liv Moran—last year’s Victor. “It isn’t _fair_!”

“You need to stop talking,” hissed the voice of Jim Moriarty. He had won his Games six years ago, and for a long time, he had remained the face of District Seven. It had been a relief to the Capitol when Moran won, if only so the face of Seven wasn’t cold, calculating, ruthless Jim Moriarty, but humble, agreeable Liv Moran.

Who didn’t sound so agreeable right now.

“They did this on _purpose_! They’re mad I won and they’re doing this just to—“

There was the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and then the voices stopped. The Peacekeeper was growing uneasy, so Lia returned to the couch and waited for the visitors that never came.

Some odds they were.


	2. the blonde boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So, we have a week left to live. What are you planning on doing with it?"
> 
> Lia clenched her jaw. He meant the best, he really did, but she hated him so much for his cushy life in the Victor's Village, for the way he already had the Capitol's sympathy, for the way Liv would do anything to keep him alive, for the way he wouldn't have to try very hard to kill her.
> 
> "Survive," she said, and pushed away from the table.

Lia had been proven wrong—she received one visitor, in the form of Miss Maylong bringing her a change of clothes to take back the yellow sundress. So at least someone had acknowledged her existence.

She got on the train followed by cameras, pushed along by the overly-enthusiastic Dixie, who was ‘so glad to leave this dirty District’. The boy was somewhere near her, stone-faced but red in the eyes. Lia had not cried, would not cry until the cameras were all safely away from her.

As soon as her small entourage had stepped onto the train, the doors shut, and she let her shoulders drop. It was becoming so real—the train, speeding toward the Capitol, the mentors, the boy, Dixie, the absence of the little yellow sundress. The reality of the Games, coming in just a week.

Lia knew, deep down, she was not going to survive.

Jim Moriarty looked tired in a way that sleep could not fix, and he was treading water when he spoke to Liv. Her luck, right? Her mentor had to be emotionally unstable.

“What’s your name?” she asked the boy, offhandedly, while searching for a quiet place to breathe.

“Sorry?”

She turned to face him. He was tall, taller than her, and much wider. He was built like someone who had spent his life cutting lumber, and she didn’t like how he seemed to tower over her. Like he was ready to kill her right here and now if it called for it.

“What’s your name?” she repeated. “I didn’t hear it with all the chaos.”

His brows pulled close together, like he didn’t know if it was a joke or not. Maybe she was supposed to know him. He did look kind of familiar. Was he the mayor’s son?

“Jasper Moran,” he said slowly. “I’m Liv’s brother.”

Oh, fuck. She knew it wasn’t impossible for the Victor’s sibling to be reaped, but it wasn’t exactly common. And of course Liv was their mentor, and of course she would do anything to save her brother, and of course Lia would have to suffer the consequences of the odds, the odds, the fucking odds.

“Jasper. Got it. I’m going to, um. I’m going to go lie down.”

She turned quickly from him and entered one of the rooms, a vacant bedroom with plush Capitol clothes filling the drawers and closets. She didn’t want them. She didn’t want anything from the Capitol. All she really wanted was some sleep.

-

After turning restlessly for an hour, unable to sleep with the speed of the train and the weight of the Games on her mind, there was a soft knock on her door.

“Yes?” she called softly.

“Can I come in?” 

It was Jim Moriarty, ruthless Jim Moriarty, who had won his Games by guillotining the other tributes with a device he had made himself. He didn’t win much sympathy that year, or favor in the Capitol. In fact, they had tried to kill him off several times, but he was smart, and fast, and he had survived when he wasn’t supposed to.

Maybe he could be of some use to her.

“Yeah,” she finally said, sitting up on the plush bed. 

He cracked the door open, looked over his shoulder before stepping in and flicking the light on.

“It’s nearly time for dinner. You need to fill up before we get to the Capitol.”

“Okay. I’ll be right out.”

He was still, but his eyes jumped all over, searching for something she couldn’t see.

“I suppose you’ve heard the situation.”

“What, that my mentor is the other tribute’s sister, and I am royally screwed over? Yes, I have heard that the odds are not in my favor.”

Something shifted in his face. Amusement? She wanted to hit him. 

“Come to dinner. You have a lot to be caught up on.”

He left the room, and she threw the alarm clock where he had just stood. She was sick of being left out of the loop when her fucking life was on the line. Didn’t anyone understand that? That this wasn’t funny to her?

She left her room when she had managed to calm herself some, knuckles now bruised and aching, and sat primly at the table, across from Moriarty, next to Jasper. Dixie was seated at the head of the table, gleefully unaware of the tension that hung in the room.

“I’m just so  _ excited! _ This is my favorite time of the year, it really is—“

Moriarty cleared his throat and cut off Dixie’s chattering.

“Oh! Right. Of course. Go ahead, James.”

He clenched his jaw and nodded his head in acknowledgement before turning to the two tributes.

“Liv and Dixie and I have done some talking. Traditionally, the tributes only have one mentor, but considering the circumstances… We believe it would only be fair to you both if you had more than one mentor. Someone a bit more…  _ impartial _ .”

Jasper didn’t move, but Lia brightened significantly. Moriarty would be mentoring them as well? Maybe she had a fighting chance in this thing. Maybe she would make it back home to District Seven after all.

“Of course,” he continued, “we want things to be as fair as possible, so I’ll leave it up to you if you want to be mentored separately, or together. You don't have to make a decision right now, but that's the situation as it stands."

That certainly changed things. Yes, she would still have to fight Jasper if it came to it, but she wasn't doomed from the start.

"I'd like to be mentored separately," she said quietly, staring at Moriarty.

"I would, also," Jasper said, looking down at the table. Neither tribute dared to look at each other.

"Great," said Liv. "That certainly simplifies things. Jim will obviously be handling your training, Adalia."

She nodded once, sliding her eyes away from Jim's to look at the trays of lavish food being laid on the table.

"Extraordinary, isn't it?" Liv said, forcing a smile. "I was so amazed at it all last year. How… lavish."

Lia could tell she meant wasteful, but wouldn't dare voice this thought in front of Dixie, or the cameras that were surely on the train.

They ate dinner without speaking a single word. Dixie tried unsuccessfully to start several conversations, but the only response she received was silverware against dishes, and so she sighed before retiring for the night.

Liv and Jim soon followed, and Jasper and Lia were left alone.

"So," Jasper said with an awkward smile that would have charmed any other girl back in the District.

"So?" Lia was significantly less amused.

"So, we have a week left to live. What are you planning on doing with it?"

Lia clenched her jaw. He meant the best, he really did, but she hated him so much for his cushy life in the Victor's Village, for the way he already had the Capitol's sympathy, for the way Liv would do anything to keep him alive, for the way he wouldn't have to try very hard to kill her.

"Survive," she said, and pushed away from the table.


	3. all the colors of the city

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s at least better than back home.”
> 
> “I think most things are,” she sighed, and finally gave him her attention. “I’m going to die in a week.”

Lia was awake before the train even stopped. She hadn’t been able to sleep much; pictures of guillotines and axes floated through her dreams, while Liv’s sobbing and Jim’s quiet chastising prevented her from getting back to sleep.

The Capitol was shiny and loud, but most of all, it was bright. Neon signs flashed in every direction you turned your head, while the houses themselves were deep shades of crimson, violet, emerald. She would have been awed, but at some point in the night, she had gone numb. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Jim asked, suddenly next to her. She turned to him and flicked her eyes over him briefly. He was in a sharp suit, far too flashy for back home, but noticeably understated for the Capitol. She supposed Dixie had forced it on him, because she had seen him in a similar outfit on his Victory Tour. 

“No,” she said, turning back to the window. “It’s rather gaudy.”

He let out a quiet, barking laugh, but there was no humor in it.

“It’s at least better than back home.”

“I think most things are,” she sighed, and finally gave him her attention. “I’m going to die in a week.”

He didn’t deny it. His face didn’t turn sympathetic, and she liked that. “There’s only a one in twenty-four chance you’ll be the Victor, yes.”

“So how do I…”

“Not die?” He smiled a little. “Well, I’m going to try to teach you in a week what six other tributes have trained their whole lives for, and then it’s up to you to get out there, and…”

“Not die,” she finished. “Got it.”

She turned back to the window, brooding once again. One week. How was she supposed to learn anything in one week, let alone how to survive a fight to the death with twenty-three other tributes?

“Hey,” he said, laying a hand on her shoulder. She turned again. “Have you ever tried hot chocolate?”

No, of course she hadn’t. She had been poor before the fire, and after, she certainly didn’t have any luxuries in life. Chocolate itself was so hard to come by.

Jim saw this look on her face, and smiled a little softer at her.

“Come on. It’s good. You’ll like it.”

She wasn’t much in the mood for trying anything the Capitol had to offer, but if she was really going to die in a week, and if Jim really wasn’t giving her a choice…

He led her to the dining cart where they had eaten in silence the night before. This time, the table was full of fresh baked bread, bowls of unfamiliar fruits, and dishes of elaborate breakfast foods. Jim pulled aside one of the servers and whispered quietly. She nodded and returned a moment later with two mugs, one of which Jim passed along to Lia.

She followed him to the back of the train, where they sat and watched the Capitol’s candy-colored homes pass them by.

“This was my favorite when I was training,” he told her, sipping from his mug. “Go ahead, try it. It’s good.”

She took a careful sip of the liquid, and shivered at its unexpected sweetness. It was rich, and creamy, and unlike anything she was used to.

“It’s good,” she said, swinging her feet. 

He was watching her carefully when he leaned over and wiped the drink from above her lip. She flicked her eyes back to the window and didn’t look at him.

“Today is opening ceremonies. You’ll probably spend all day getting up to the Capitol’s beauty standards before you can even meet your stylist. I don’t know what angle they’ll go for this year, but last year, they made Liv a walking tree…” 

He cracked a grin at her, but she had closed herself off. He sighed.

“Look, you can be pissed at me if you want. It’s up to you. But I’m in charge of making sure you don’t die.”

“Is that a threat?” she snapped, finally turning back to him.

“No,” he said coolly. “It’s a reminder.”

He watched her a moment longer before turning back to look out the window.

“We’ll be stopping soon. There’ll be plenty of cameras at the station, and I need to make you more likeable. Go ask Dixie very nicely if she would be willing to help you look more presentable.”

She looked at him for a long time, but he was unflinching, purposely ignoring her, and so she left him and her full mug of hot chocolate alone.


	4. when in rome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim was, unfortunately, right. It had taken most of the day to get Lia up to the bare minimum beauty standards, but now here she was, hairless, exfoliated, moisturized, and severely agitated.

Jim was, unfortunately, right. It had taken most of the day to get Lia up to the bare minimum beauty standards, but now here she was, hairless, exfoliated, moisturized, and severely agitated. Not only was she in pain, tired, and annoyed with Jim, but now she was forced to listen to the prep team talk about all the  _ struggles  _ in the Capitol, and how unfair it was that Yulia couldn't get twelve cakes for her party, only ten.

They had finally left, after much giggling at Lia's "uncivilized state", to retrieve her stylist. She was left alone in the room with the lights far too bright, the air far too cold. 

There was a soft rapping on the door, and she checked her robe one more time before calling out.

"You can come in."

The door opened and her stylist entered. She was a short, plump woman, dressed in loud colors, but her face was sweet and her smile was kind enough to make Lia nearly trust her.

And behind her was Jim Moriarty.

"Hello, Adalia," said the woman.

"You can just call me Lia," she said, but she did not take her eyes off of Jim.

"Well,  _ Lia _ ," she trilled, "I'm Tressa, and it's a pleasure to be working on you. Your mentor had some ideas for your opening ceremony outfit, so I've brought him along. He says he'll keep you happy."

"Yeah," she responded without really hearing. "Yeah."

What was he playing at? Was this some kind of punishment for earlier? Was he trying to get under her skin? If so, it was working.

Tressa got to work on Lia's makeup, while Jim chattered away. Tressa had apparently been his stylist for his Games and his Victory Tour, and they were getting reacquainted while Lia sat, silently irritated, forced to turn her head this way and that, poked and prodded and plucked.

Tressa went in for another stray eyebrow hair, and Lia finally lost her cool.

"Enough! Can you back off for one goddamn second? I can't even breathe! The both of you!"

James slid his eyes from Lia to Tressa and back again, before saying calmly, "I'm sorry about her outburst. She's a bit overloaded right now."

"Oh, I understand. I have some pills for that. Should I get them?"

"No, I don't think her body could handle it. Would you mind if we had just a second alone?"

Tressa's eyes glinted with a shimmer of understanding before she left.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Lia hissed when Tressa was out of earshot. "Why are you here, Jim?"

"I missed you," he said, far too loudly. "Come here."

" _ What _ are you doing?"

He held out his hand, took hers, pulled her in. He tucked her hair behind her ear and leaned in close.

"Making you sympathetic," he murmured in her ear. "Everyone wants to watch a tragedy, and the Capitol loves a good love story.”

Her face twisted into disgust as she tried to push away from him, but he held her tight.

“I don’t know what delusions you’ve decided to believe, but there is no love story.”

“Lower your voice,” he whispered into her ear. “I’m your mentor. I’ve got to figure out a way to get the Capitol to like you. If the Capitol likes you, you get sponsors. If you get sponsors, you get help in the arena. If you get help, you get home alive, and I’ve done my job. Jasper has all the sympathy right now, with the twelve year old tribute from six in a close second. You aren’t seeming all that likeable right now, let alone sympathetic. All of District Seven knows how that fire started, and if you think it isn’t going to come out in their interviews, you’re sorely mistaken. So I’m going with the only angle I’ve got left: a forbidden romance.”

“I need you to spell this out for me,” she said, her voice now as hushed as his. “My life is on the line. I can’t afford a misunderstanding.”

“Starting now, as far as the rest of the world is concerned, you and I are in a relationship. Have been for a year now. It was a secret, but with the whole world watching, we just couldn’t keep it hidden. The mentor in love with his tribute, who would do anything to keep her alive. The tribute who only wants to make it home to him. The unlucky star-crossed lovers. Who wouldn’t send help to you then, if only to see you in your wedding gown when you come back?”

“What about the interviews? Back home, I mean.”

“If everything goes the way I want it to, they’ll be more interested in interviewing Tressa and Dixie. From now on, you and I are madly in love. Rumors get around fast in the Capitol, and who better to interview than your stylist and your chaperone, who have spent a week in close quarters with us both? No one keeps much of an eye on you back home. It would be so easy for a thing like this to escape their notice, but here…”

She took in a large breath, exhaled slowly. It could work. It really could. She just had to do the work on her end, and Jim on his, and if they were good enough at acting, they might really pull this thing off.

“Okay,” she finally said, her face now set with determination. “One week. How hard could it be?”

He laughed, but neither of them saw much humor in it at all.

One week for the star-crossed lovers. Well, no one said this staying alive business was easy. 


	5. going out in style

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was right. Not bitter, just resigned to the truth. Things weren’t different, not at all, and if they were, they wouldn’t be having this conversation. No use in getting close to someone who might very well kill her as soon as they stepped off the plates.

It was cold in the Capitol. Probably not much colder than back home, but back home… well, back home, she wore more clothes than this.

Tressa and Jim had decided on her outfit together: a red flannel shirt, unbuttoned, that just grazed the top of her thighs, with a spiked black belt around the waist. Tressa had braided a few leaves into her hair, and the shoes were so high she could hardly walk, and all she wanted was to go home, and lay down, and forget this whole sorry thing.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered to Jim, tugging at the hemline. “I’m half naked.”

“Sex sells,” he replied, flicking his eyes over her body. “They had me naked except for some tactfully placed leaves. It could be a whole lot worse.”

Lia glanced over at some of the other tributes, fidgeting, hanging around their mentors, or staring at the ground.

“Why can’t my outfit be like Eight’s?” she complained. “Hers looks good, and she’s covered.”

The District Eight tributes were dressed in red silk, the girl in an elegant dress, the boy in a fashionable suit that would be considered simplistic for the Capitol.

“Because Eight is textile,” he said, and took one of her hands, almost absentmindedly. She resisted the urge to recoil. “Seven is lumber. You’re lucky you aren’t a tree.”

“I know what Seven is,” she grumbled, and tried relaxing some. If she was going to sell this thing, she would have to get far more comfortable around him. “It’s cold.”

“Here,” he said, and shrugged his jacket off, wrapped it around her shoulders. “Horribly cliche, but we’ll take what we can get.”

“Thanks,” she said, a bit reluctantly, and took a step closer to him. “Put your arm around me.”

He obliged, and she rested her head on his shoulder. It was odd, to be so physically close to someone after all those years of nothing, but it was kind of nice. Maybe in different circumstances, things would be better.

“So what’s tonight?” she asked, looking around at the crowd of tributes and mentors surrounding them.

“The opening ceremonies first. Just a lap around the square, and then President Snow says a few words. We go back to the Training Center, eat dinner, and you get some sleep for training tomorrow.”

Lia opened her mouth to respond, but a Capitol man dressed in all black appeared.

“Two minutes until the first carriage comes out. Everyone in your places.”

She watched him leave, and handed Jim’s suit jacket back with a sigh.

“Good luck,” he said weakly, watching her ready herself.

“I’m gonna need it.”

She hesitated, then squeezed his hand before leaving him.

Jasper was dressed similar to her, but he had the privilege of wearing pants—skintight black leather, but pants nonetheless. His flannel was buttoned up to his chest, and he, too, had leaves woven in his hair.

“Ready?” he asked, stepping onto the carriage with her.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

They both waited in silence, watching the other Districts enter the square to shouts of encouragement. This would be their first interaction with the Capitol, and most importantly, the first time potential sponsors would see her. She had to be charming—more charming than any other tribute. Jim had told her to smile and wave, and most importantly, never let the Capitol know you didn’t want to be there. They wouldn’t understand why someone would reject such an honor, he said, and so she had to make them think she was excited to have this chance. 

No matter how much of a lie that was.

District Six pulled ahead of them, the girl looking so small compared to her male counterpart. Lia wondered if she would even make it past the Cornucopia before she was killed.

“Well,” Lia said, her throat suddenly very tight, “here we go.”

“You’ll be alright.” 

His voice was soft, trying to soothe her, even as they would be preparing to fight against each other tomorrow. She flicked her eyes up to him.

“I  _ am  _ sorry about this all. I mean, it’s not my fault, but still. It sucks. I think we could be friends, if we weren’t here.”

“I wish things were different, too,” he said, and had to blink back tears. “But they aren’t.”

He was right. Not bitter, just resigned to the truth. Things weren’t different, not at all, and if they were, they wouldn’t be having this conversation. No use in getting close to someone who might very well kill her as soon as they stepped off the plates.

She wanted to say something, anything else, but District Seven’s carriage pulled forward, and it was time to smile and wave at the Capitol. 

Back to survival.

-

Seven had gotten their fair amount of cheers, but the Careers took the cake, as per usual. They would get the most sponsors, the most allies, the most kills. The rest of them were just pawns in the game.

The carriages turned from the square in a neat line, and as soon as they were hidden from the crowd again, Lia let her smile drop.

“Well?” she asked Jim, buttoning up her shirt. “How did I look out there?”

“Really good,” he said. “You did everything you were supposed to, and I’m working on getting you some sponsors. Good job, baby.”

Oh. Right. That was going to take some getting used to. She moved in a bit closer to him and tried to look like she was having a good time, but she was just so tired. Jim took her hand, gave it a light squeeze. Somehow, she didn't think it was part of the act.

"What am I going to do, Jim?" she said, laughing even while she wanted to cry.

He took her hand, brought it to his lips. Stared out at the colored buildings on the horizon. Maybe it was beautiful. Lia didn't know any more.

"Survive," he said, and locked their fingers together, never letting go.


	6. the heat of a hundred lightning strikes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Left or right?" he asked her, peeling back the covers.  
"Fuck off."  
"I'll take left."

The elevator ride to Floor Seven was, for the most part, quiet. Jasper had his eyes shut tight, apparently motion sick from the elevator shooting him straight up, and Liv was quietly contemplating something. Jim and Lia were caught up in their act, making themselves look stupid and lovesick and longing. Dixie had been chattering about the success of the night, but had quickly lost her voice upon spotting Lia tucked into Jim’s side, with his arms wrapped around her, the both of them swaying a little. Dixie had then spent a very long time taking what she thought to be discreet glances at the both of them, smiling at each other, holding each other. Looking very much in love.

“Well!” Dixie said, clapping her hands together when they had reached their floor. “We should all be heading to bed. It’s been a very long day. There’s only four rooms, so I suppose I’ll see about getting an extra bed in here…”

She was not subtle at all, but Lia had to admire the effort she was putting into pulling a response out of them.

“No,” Lia said, quietly, trying her best to look nervous for all the right reasons. “I’ll share with Jim. I don’t mind.”

“I couldn’t possibly allow that,” Dixie said, but she clearly  _ wanted  _ to very much.

“It’s alright,” Jim said. “I don’t mind sharing with Lia. The bed is plenty big enough.”

“If you insist,” Dixie said, and she was absolutely delighted.

The group parted for the evening, and it was with leaden feet that Lia followed Jim to what was now, officially, their room.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Lia whispered. It really was a nice couch. Soft. Wide. Vacant. Unshared.

“Too risky,” Jim replied, toeing off his shoes, loosening his tie. “What if Dixie wakes up before you do? Your life is at stake here.”

Lia was still very, very uneasy. 

“Hey,” he tried for a smile, “I’m not a cuddler. The bed is wide. We don’t have to be close to each other.”

“I haven’t shared a bed with anyone in a very long time.”

“It’ll be alright.”

She took a long, long breath, and then nodded.

“Okay. Alright. Just let me get changed.”

She took a pair of the silk pajamas from a drawer and hastily retreated to the bathroom.

Why was it such a big deal? Was it even a big deal? It sure felt like it. Something so intimate… so vulnerable. That was it. She was being made to feel more vulnerable than she had ever been before.

She threw the flannel to the side and tried to scrub some of the makeup off her face, but it was stubborn and only smudged. Good. Maybe Jim would keep back if she looked hideous.

She stalled a bit longer, but she could hear him hovering outside the door, so she tore it open and pushed through.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, his face just a bit too innocent. He would enjoy this, of course he would, enjoy her inability to sleep the next six days. Might even enjoy watching her die in the arena.

"Don't test me right now, Jim. Really, really don't."

He laughed a little, shook his head, and made his way to the bed. It was wider than any at home, sure, but too narrow to escape his presence altogether. They could avoid contact if she was careful, but it was so close, and she was never still in her sleep…

"Left or right?" he asked her, peeling back the covers.

"Fuck off."

"I'll take left."

He laid down, watched her hesitate, and smiled to himself when she finally settled in next to him. She was fidgeting, clearly uncomfortable, and he rolled his eyes.

"You're being ridiculous. The entire nation saw you nearly naked today, and when you have to share a king-size bed, you freak out?"

"In my defense, you did murder a lot of people. Eleven, if I remember correctly."

His face grew dark. Not the kind of annoyance she had seen from him the past two days, but rage, pure rage, and he was struggling to contain it.

"It wasn't murder. It was survival. Don't talk about things you don't understand."

"I understand plenty. You were just  _ waiting  _ for the Games to come along. It was a dream come true for you, wasn't it? An arena full of all that prey. The whole nation watching you hunt. A week to show everyone  _ you  _ were the real predator. I bet you loved it."

He was on her in an instant, two hands around her throat, not pressing, just present, a knee on her chest, her body pinned under his.

"Don't talk about the Games. You haven't been in them. I could either die or survive, and I chose survival."

He released her and she didn't move, stayed still and watched him try to calm himself.

"I killed because I had to, Adalia. I don't think the same can be said about you."

Her fists locked tight and she sat up, her body going cold and then hot at the mention of the fire, thinking of all that smoke, ears ringing from all that screaming, the screaming that still woke her at night, and he didn't  _ get  _ it, just like no one else had understood when they found her with the rubble.

"I really don't think you should talk about that, James. I really, really don't think so."

"Why? You want to talk murder? We can talk murder alright. They said you went insane, but I know just how clear you must have been thinking. Was it fun, Adalia? Just a laugh?"

She cocked her arm back and her fist went right for his ribs. He didn't stop the first few because he had been so shocked, but the remainder were blocked easily. He had her pressed flat on her back, hands restrained above her head, and he was giving her the oddest look. All she wanted to do was make him hurt. He wasn't allowed to talk about the fire. No one was allowed to bring up that heat. No one understood it.

"Let go of me! Let  _ go,  _ you fucking—"

Their door went flying open, and an outraged Dixie stood at the entrance.

" _ What _ is all this yelling—?  _ Oh _ ."

Jim rolled off of Lia and pretended to look sheepish.

"Sorry, Dixie. I didn't mean to wake you."

Lia sat up, flushed red, and couldn't make eye contact.

"It's not what it looks like. We—We were fighting…" 

She trailed off, realizing that the truth neither mattered nor helped in her case.

"We'll be more quiet. Sorry to disturb you," Jim said, with all of his usual charm. Dixie tried to look reproachful but fell short.

"I'll be going back to sleep now. I don't want to hear anything untoward happening in here."

She gave one lingering look before shutting the door and leaving them.

They were both panting, reeling from all that had just happened, and Jim was the first to break the silence with a ringing laugh.

"What?" Lia said, annoyed. He was laughing at her now? Did he think she was a joke?

"Something tells me we're going to be under surveillance for a while."

Lia looked at him for a moment, and then began to laugh too, the noise bubbling out of her throat as she thought of the situation, and just how ridiculous it really was.

"Let's get some sleep," Jim finally said when they had regained their breath and all the tension in the room was a distant memory.

"Alright," she said, and flicked the lamp off, laying on her side, facing away from Jim.

Right before she slipped out of consciousness, she heard a soft, sleepy voice murmur to her.

"Sweet dreams, my little pyromaniac."


	7. knife girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bed beside her was empty, only wrinkled sheets and a lingering warmth. She listened for a moment and heard the sink running, then the water being turned off. Jim came back into the bedroom a moment later, wearing only the pants he’d had on last night. When exactly had the shirt come off?
> 
> And when exactly did she begin to care how Jim Moriarty looked shirtless?

Lia was woken by Dixie outside the door, knocking, trilling in that horrible Capitol accent, “Rise and shine! Rise and shine!”

She could take that rise and shine and stick it in a place the sun would never see. She was sure it was a lot easier to rise and fucking shine when you had pills to help you sleep, when you weren’t sharing the bed with Jim Moriarty, and when you didn’t have some brutal truths to face.

Still.

She pulled her pillow over her face, briefly contemplating asking Jim to just take her out of her misery, but then threw it to the side.

The bed beside her was empty, only wrinkled sheets and a lingering warmth. She listened for a moment and heard the sink running, then the water being turned off. Jim came back into the bedroom a moment later, wearing only the pants he’d had on last night. When exactly had the shirt come off?

And when exactly did she begin to care how Jim Moriarty looked shirtless?

She quickly flicked her eyes away, sitting up on the bed and trying to rub all the sleep from her eyes. Jim smiled at her, too soft in the morning, too tender and sweet for comfort.

“Sleep well?”

She didn’t answer. Yes, surprisingly, she had, but she didn’t really want to admit that to him. She’d slept better with him in her bed than she had slept in all the years she slept alone.

“What’s on today’s agenda?” she said instead, dragging herself from the bed.

“For you and Jasper, training. Liv, Dixie, and I will be working on getting sponsors. This is also when you should figure out if you want to form any alliances.”

“No,” she said immediately, whipping to face him.

“That’s not wise.”

“Why not? You won your Games without any alliances.”

He looked at her chidingly, and she hated it, that scolding in his face. She wasn’t a child, and she didn’t want to be treated like one.

“I very nearly lost. I’d have done much better working with others than fighting alone.”

“Would you have? I somehow doubt that.”

He started to bring up the same rage from the night before, but calmed down when she cracked a smile.

“Real funny.”

“Look, if we want this thing to work, you can’t get mad at me every time I make  _ one _ little joke. Oh—come here.”

She took two quick steps to him and pulled him down toward her, started to lean up toward him, stopped short, breath halting. Kept eye contact as she undid a few buttons on her shirt.

The door pushed open and snapped Jim away from the moment as Dixie looked completely scandalized yet again and rushed away with cries of “Rise and shine!” dying in her throat.

“Sorry,” Lia said, smiling, holding back laughter. Buttoning her shirt again. Stepping away from him. “I couldn’t resist. I heard her coming down the hallway, and those ‘rise and shine’s are really starting to get to me.”

He blinked a few times before pulling away.

“Can’t blame you,” he said with a smile lacking in its usual luster. “I’d say my favorite part of District Seven is that Dixie isn’t there to wake me up.”

“So, training? Where’s that at?” She turned from the dresser when she received no answer. “Jim?”

He seemed to snap out of a trance.

“Sorry?”

“Training?”

“Right. It’s in this building, just a different floor. We should probably think about which skills would be best for you to learn. What are you good at?”

“Well,” she said, back to looking through the clothes for something that wasn’t completely impractical, “I’m decent with knives. Specifically carving and etching, but I know how to handle most kinds.”

“That’s a good start. Anything else?”

“I was very good at hide and seek as a child,” she said, her voice flat and unamused. He rolled his eyes at her. He was finding himself doing that more and more around her.

“Adalia, this is—”

“Serious?” she finished for him, turning with fresh clothes in hand. “Yeah. I know. My life is on the line. You keep telling me. Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m not good at anything survival related. I didn’t spend my whole life preparing to hunt other kids for sport.”

“Alright, but now you’ve got a week to prepare to hunt other kids for sport. It’s possible. It’s going to be hard, but you can do it.”

“Pep talk. That’s a new low for you.” She strode past him, to the entrance of the bathroom. “I was on the track and field team. I can run, and I can throw. I can jump, too, if I’ve got something to launch myself with. Happy?”

“About as much as I can get around you.”

She beamed at him. “If Dixie comes by, make sure to sound positively indecent for me, will you?” The door shut and water began to run, muffled by the thick wood. 

Oh, it would be a long,  _ long  _ day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, this isn't much content-wise, but it's mostly just to establish plot, and also because i kind of forgot about this story
> 
> also  
hi carlsdaprincess  
special shoutout to you :)))))))   
paint me the lesbian birds and maybe you can get more :)))))))))


	8. the cruel glow of fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She looked for Jasper in the crowd. She should wait for him, probably. Or maybe not. She didn’t really know the etiquette here.
> 
> But instead, she found Jim, waiting in front of the elevator marked with a big red seven.

Training had gone as expected. Showing off her skills with knives, resigned to the camouflage station for her little quip about hide and seek. She wanted to run as fast as she could, just to remember the burn of aching muscles and a chest closing in on itself and the feeling of knowing you’re invincible, but Jim had strictly forbade it, along with any sort of object throwing, strength test, or catapulting herself way up high. Leave it for the private session, he had said. Let everyone underestimate her until it was too late.

She hadn’t talked to any of the other tributes, but Jasper was a social butterfly the whole time. He had found the twelve year old and apparently they’d agreed to an alliance. Lia didn’t think it wise, but hey, it was his head, not hers. His sentiment would only result in the both of them being picked off early. He’d tried to sit with Lia at lunch and talk to her about alliances, but she picked up her tray and moved to a vacant table. She didn’t need every other tribute associating her with the blonde boy just because they came on the same train together.

And  _ ugh _ , it was so irritating how likeable he was. God, the kid couldn’t even hurt a fly. No one could be that perfectly innocent. She knew there had to be some kind of skeletons lurking in his closet. Maybe he peed the bed. Yeah, that would make her feel better.

-

When training was over, tributes left to their separate elevators, Careers splitting from packs with wolf-tooth grins, and a few non-Career packs laughing their way apart. She looked for Jasper in the crowd. She should wait for him, probably. Or maybe not. She didn’t really know the etiquette here.

But instead, she found Jim, waiting in front of the elevator marked with a big red seven. 

Her face cycled through a few shades of red before settling on a bright scarlet hue, and if she was any angrier, smoke might be coming out of her ears. She marched over, grabbed him by his wrist, and threw him into the elevator with her, jabbing the door close button until it mercifully shut.

“What the  _ hell _ is wrong with you?”

“Oh, we’re playing it off like you top, are we?”

“ _ Enough _ ,” she hissed, trying her best not to punch him. “No more jokes, no more playing perfect couple, no more of this bullshit, Jim.  _ What _ is wrong with you, exactly?”

“I don’t understand what you’re so upset about.”

She clenched her jaw and swung for his face, but he caught her wrist and tutted.

“That wouldn’t be very wise, little girl.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Were you always like this? Or did the Games permanently screw up any chance of intelligent thought?”

“I came to pick you up because we have a part to play. Did you forget that? It’s not all loud moans to scare off Dixie and smiling for the Capitol. We need  _ everyone  _ to believe it.”

The doors opened for their floor. She did not step off. She was shaking with rage.

“What you _did_ was make all the tributes see me as weak. Didn’t it click that you were the only mentor standing there? That _no one_ _else_ had someone come pick them up like they were a little kid? You’ve gone and put a big red target on my forehead. Everyone is going to try to pick me off early. I’m no better than the twelve year old in their eyes.”

“Good,” he said, and started to walk off the elevator. She jerked him back and pressed the button for the training floor again. They shot back down.

“I don’t know if you’ve forgotten,  _ Jim _ , but you’re supposed to be trying to keep me alive.”

He let out a hefty sigh.

“I know that, Adalia, and it’s not a job you’re making easy. I, however, have not been idle. I’m working on building your image, with the sponsors  _ and _ tributes. They’re going to see you as weak and try to pick you off first? Good. Let them underestimate you. Let them get close enough to kill.”

He jabbed the button for the seventh floor. They went back up.

Lia was quieter now. He had a point, she supposed. But then, what if she wasn’t able to fend them off? What if she didn’t make it out of that arena alive?

“I’m afraid,” she said softly. He looked angry.

“Afraid of what, exactly?”

“Dying,” she said, and blinked. “Killing. Both.”

“Well, kid, you better get over it. One or the other has to happen. If you don’t kill--if you want to put your morals before your life--well, that’s just fine. But you’re going to end up dead like that. It’s not a choice. It’s not something you can just decide you don’t feel like doing anymore. No one stepped up for you that day, and now you’re here, and this is your life. Tough up or get ready to die a painful, slow death.”

She had begun to cry and shake like a leaf in the wind. He was right. He was right, and it was all becoming too much. 

“I want to go home, Jim. I can’t do this.”

“You have to!” he snarled, suddenly turning on her. He trapped her between him and the wall of the elevator with an arm on either side of her. “You  _ have  _ to. Can’t you see that? It’s not a fucking choice. You kill or get killed. There’s only two ways to go home: with blood on your hands, or in a wooden box.”

She was shaking, sobbing, crying her eyes out, and suddenly, she felt like the weak little girl all the other tributes had glimpsed tonight. She didn’t want to be here, or do this, or stand in this fucking elevator for another second. She didn’t want Jim Moriarty to be her mentor anymore, she didn’t want to share a bed with him again tonight, she didn’t want to step out into the world and have to smile with him anymore. She wanted to be home, before it had burned down, singing songs with her father and watching her mother’s quick hands turn wool into yarn, which she would make winter clothes from, and her and Jamie would play in the yard, and everything would be okay.

And then Jim hit her.

“Stop it. Stop crying. Stop wishing that things were different, because they  _ aren’t _ , and nothing can change them now. Nothing can stop what’s already started.”

Her cheek stung from his hand. She glimpsed her reflection in the cool metal doors before they slid open. She looked like an absolute mess. Her eyes were red and splotchy from all that crying, and there was a distinct handprint on the right side of her face. 

She looked up at Jim, who was seething with rage, and pressed the button for the training floor again, before she stepped off of the elevator and marched to the balcony, with him heading seven floors below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst-a-palooza tonight, ladies
> 
> anyway here's a fun drinking game: take a shot for every time i used italics
> 
> thanks to carlsdalilbitch for painting the lesbian birbs. here u go, madame whore


	9. a love song on the roof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim sat with her, on the very ledge of the balcony. There was a railing, and beyond that, an invisible sort of wall. Couldn't have the tributes dying before the cameras were watching.

Jim didn't come for a long while, so long that Lia wondered if he would at all. She had been sitting on the balcony for hours now, watching the sky grow dark as the neon lights grew brighter and flashier. It nauseated her, the whole Capitol. The greed and bloodlust.

Jim sat with her, on the very ledge of the balcony. There was a railing, and beyond that, an invisible sort of wall. Couldn't have the tributes dying before the cameras were watching.

"You were right, you know," Lia said, not looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on a raucous group of Capitol citizens, dressed in feathers and beads, probably reeking of alcohol. "Earlier. I can't change things. It's how they are now."

"Doesn't mean I should have hit you," he said softly. He followed her gaze. Things were more colorful here. He wished that he could live here, that he wasn't a Victor and didn't have to mentor scared kids. He hadn't ever wished it before, and he'd never admit it out loud, but there it was. He was growing fond of the kid. Christ, he'd even brought her a plate from dinner. Maybe he was getting a little too into the act.

"It is pretty, I guess," she said. "All the lights and the colors. It's just hard to like it when you know what's sacrificed to make it."

"I brought you dinner," he said, instead of replying. "Dixie told me you didn't eat."

"No. I was up here."

He held the plate out like a peace offering. She took it without looking up at him.

"I don't really miss home, you know," she said after a long moment of silence. "At least, not the way you think I do. I don't have anything to miss. I miss home before everything happened."

"Why did you do it?" he asked, cautious. 

"That's the million dollar question, isn't it? Everyone wants to know. Why did I burn it down?"

She looked at another point in the distance. Flowers, this time. She wondered if they were real. They were probably plastic, artificial, just like everything else in this goddamn city.

"Are you going to tell me?"

"Maybe. Someday."

She picked at the food, rich and creamy and luxurious, but she wasn't hungry. She hadn't been all day.

"I'm sorry I hit you," he finally said. "I shouldn't have."

"No, you shouldn't have." She tried a piece of unknown meat. "Did Dixie tell you to say that?"

"That doesn't mean I don't mean it."

"No, I suppose it doesn't."

The night was quiet and still around them. The drunk group had long since left, their voices only echoes now. Music was playing somewhere, booming and odd. It wasn't like the music they played back home. She didn't mind it much.

"We should go in soon." 

"Yeah," Jim said, sighing, not making any move to stand, "we should."

"Can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

"I'm going to miss you, I think. In the arena. And I know I'm going to die in there, Jim. I know I will. So I just want to tell you… Thank you. For trying to keep me alive."

That was a new feeling in his chest. What was it--fear? It felt like fear. He hadn't felt like this when he had been Reaped, hadn't felt this in the arena or when any of his other tributes had gone into battle and died. Didn't even feel this way when Liv went in.

So why did he feel so terrified at the thought of Adalia fighting for her life?

"You're not going to die in that arena. You're going to come out of there, alive, and I'm going to do everything I can to see to it. It's my job, remember?"

"That's a nice thought," she said, and leaned into him. 

Neither of them said anything else. There wasn't much else to be said.

Instead, Jim wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held onto her tight. He was terrified, for the first time in his life. To let go. To lose. 


	10. trust no one (especially the red woman)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I love you, too,” she said, and swallowed around the lump in her throat. How long had they been listening? What had they heard?
> 
> And who exactly was Erianna Jackson?

Training that day was rather unremarkable. Lia listened to a red-headed woman talk about poisonous berries for an extraordinary amount of time. The only really notable thing had happened at lunch, and she didn’t much want to tell Jim about it.

“How did training go?” he asked when she got off of the elevator. He had reluctantly agreed to not pick her up on the training floor this time.

“I’m sore and I don’t want to talk about it.”

She was sore, aching all over, but that wasn’t the reason she wanted to avoid him. She started to walk toward the bedroom, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“You’re keeping something from me,” he said.

“Yeah.”

She pried herself from his grip and continued her path to the bedroom, Jim on her heels the whole time. She slammed a few random buttons on the panel for the shower, and watched the tub fill with steaming water and bubbles. Fine. It was all fine.

“What happened?”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You can’t keep things from me. Your life—”

“Is on the line?” she shouted, suddenly red in the face. If he wanted to do this now, then fine. Fine. She could do it. Fine. “I know, Jim, okay? I know my life is on the line! Do you think I forgot that? Do you think I forgot that my life is in your hands and I’m going to have to fight and kill and try my best not to die in three days? I haven’t forgotten, okay, and I don’t need you to keep reminding me—”

He took a step forward, and she lost what was left of her temper. Her arm pulled back, and then there was the sickening crash of glass, and the mirror was in pieces around her feet.

Jim went still as Lia cursed, panting and crying. What a wreck she was, blood everywhere, glass everywhere, the tub in danger of overflowing.

He stepped around her and shut off the running water, then brought Lia out of the bathroom, sat her on the bed. He told her to stay put and she did, and he returned with an Avox to clean up the mess. The boy quickly swept up the glass and left, and Jim took Lia back into the bathroom. Pieces of the mirror still clung to its original place. He watched her flinch away from her reflection as he ran the water in the sink.

“Give me your hand,” he said softly. She did, thinking very little of it. She had gone somewhere far away, he could tell. Somewhere that always smelled like fire and ash.

He tried not to focus too much on all the things he had to deal with, and instead cleaned her hand. There wasn’t much blood, only one small cut on her knuckles. He made her flex her fingers, and the wound didn’t reopen, everything moved the way it was supposed to. She had gotten lucky. 

When her hand was cleaned, he led her to the bath. The water was still steaming and foamed. He undressed her carefully, trying not to look until he had helped her into the bath and the bubbles covered her body.

He didn’t talk to her, ask her what was wrong. He knew it would only upset her, and he couldn’t risk another outburst right now. He doubted she would get as lucky with the lack of injuries if she tried to break something else. Instead, he rolled up his sleeves and started to wash her hair.

“They know,” she said when he was shampooing her hair.

“What?”

“They know about it.”

“Know about what?” he said softly, sitting back as she turned to face him.

“The fire. The girl came up to me and she said she knew about the fire and she knew what I did to them and she said she wanted me on her side because if I could kill my family like that then I could kill anyone else in the arena a lot easier.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. She  _ had _ killed them—it wasn’t a secret by any stretch of the imagination. Everyone back home knew it, but no one knew why. There had been a lot of fuss around the incident, and it only ended with her spending some time locked away in a padded white room.

“Did you agree?” he finally said.

“What?”

“To the alliance. Did you agree?”

“Yeah,” she said quietly, drawing her knees to her chest. “I remembered what you said, and I figured you were probably right. If I want a fighting chance, I’m going to need help.”

“What District is she from?”

“Two.”

“You managed to get in with the  _ Careers _ ?”

“Yeah. And I’m fucking terrified to mess up, now.”

“You said the girl tribute from Two? I’ll have to talk to her mentor in the morning.”

“Yeah. She said her name was Erianna.”

He went very still again.

“Erianna Jackson?”

“I think so. Why?”

He stood up.

“I don’t think it would be wise to ally with her. I don’t think she’s telling you everything.”

“I mean, she can’t, can she? One of us is going to have to die in the end.”

He shook his head like a terrible thought was plaguing him and he couldn’t get it out of his head. Fuck, it was coming back to haunt him, and now he wasn’t the only one who it would hurt. Now it would kill Lia, sweet little Lia, little Lia who made him hate the Games for the first time since he’d been Reaped.

“No, you don’t understand. Just—I need you to trust me on this, just this once. You can’t ally with her, okay? You can’t talk to her, you can’t— Just stay as far away from the Careers as you can. Okay?”

“Jim, you aren’t making sense. This is a good thing. I might actually have a  _ chance _ .”

“No. No, no, no. No, I need you to listen to me, I need you to promise… You can’t ally with Erianna Jackson. Okay? She is bad news. She’ll kill you in your sleep.”

“Jim, what are you talking about?”

“There’s things from my past—things you don’t  _ know _ about, that nobody knows about. Things no one can  _ ever _ know about.”

He looked more scared than she had ever seen him. This wasn’t cool, calm, collected Jim, who had a plan for everything, who was confident she would come out of that arena alive, Jim who had so much charisma he could change anyone’s mind with just a smile, and this wasn’t even Games Jim, who made a guillotine with all the things he could find, Jim with the brilliant mind who killed eleven people and refused to die. This was a different man altogether, and it wasn’t hard for Lia to see just how young he was now.

“If there’s something I need to know, you have to tell me. We can’t keep things from each other anymore. I’m relying on you, and I can’t trust you with my life if you aren’t telling me what I need to know. Especially about another tribute.”

“I can’t tell you, Lia, okay? I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but I can’t. Let’s just get you cleaned up, and we’ll sit on the roof and eat dinner together, okay? I love you.”

He was frantic, manic, his eyes wide and bulging, trying to tell her something, but she just didn’t understand. She was missing something. Why was he putting on the act here and now, when they were alone?

She nodded reluctantly, and he leaned in to kiss her. His lips were suddenly on her ear, and she was ready to jump away, yell at him, but then he whispered to her.

“It isn’t safe here. They’re listening. Play happy.”

Then he kissed her, and she kissed back, and he pulled away.

“I love you, too,” she said, and swallowed around the lump in her throat. How long had they been listening? What had they heard?

And who  _ exactly _ was Erianna Jackson?


	11. the fire that swallows the rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neither of them let go of the other for a long, long time, but when they did, something in the air had shifted. Lia sat a little closer to him. The city looked a little different. Some things just went like that. They went dark for years, until someone turned the lights back on.

Jim had disappeared soon after, leaving Lia to clamber out of the bathtub on her own, and had mercifully vacated the bedroom to allow her to get dressed. It wasn’t cold, or hot, or anything, really. It was just there, and she was just there, and she realized just how meaningless it all was.

She pulled on a set of plush pajamas, softer than anything she could have ever dreamt of, and sleep-walked her way to the balcony.

Jim was sitting dangerously close to the edge, unbothered by the city hundreds of feet below him. She sat carefully next to him and watch him snap his head to face her. She waited expectantly.

"It's bad, Lia. Really bad."

His voice was hushed. Were they listening all the way out here? They might have been. He seemed to know more about it than she did.

"How bad?"

"I… I might be putting you in danger just telling you. But fuck, if I don't tell you, you're in even more danger."

"You can tell me."

He sighed and turned away from her. He seemed to sink under the weight of his secret.

"On my Victory Tour, a lot happened. I was sad, empty, alone… fucking  _ numb _ . And I wanted to feel something, anything. By the time we got to District Two, I was in a bad state. They kept playing those fucking clips, all those kids dying over and over and over again, and me standing there, bloody and sick and…“ He trailed off, flicking his eyes away and taking in a rattling breath before he turned back to her. “It was time to leave, and I couldn’t do it, Lia. I couldn’t stomach the thought of going to another district and seeing it all over again, and especially the thought of… of the  _ Capitol,  _ all those people partying over it, laughing about it, congratulating me for it, I couldn’t do it. So I found a pair of pliers and cut a bunch of wires and that was that—we’d be stuck until they could fix the train, and it wasn’t really like they brought along mechanics, so I knew it would take a day, at least. Dixie was pissed, but she didn’t tell anyone, because she knew I was hurting.”

He tugged at a fraying thread on his pants and stared out over the horizon. The sun had set while they were inside, but there was still a bit of gold lingering in the sky, casting odd shadows on the pavement.

“We ended up having to stay at the mayor’s house. He had a daughter. Eri. And fuck, Lia, I shouldn’t have done it, but I…” 

He trailed off and looked at her with pain etched into his face. Why wouldn’t he say it? Why was her mouth so dry?

“You what?” she whispered, the words cutting her throat on the way up, and her pulse gone lightning quick, her heart so loud in her ears.

“I… I had sex with her.” His eyes closed as he turned away to hide the fact he was crying. “And I promised her that… that if she did, then I would help her escape. I would hide her on the train and take her back to Seven with me after the Victory Tour was over. And I never really meant it, you know? I never had any intention of helping that girl. It was a horrible, terrible thing to promise. But I did.”

He gave a sad little hiccup laugh and turned to her, searching her face for the rage or disgust he was expecting. She just looked painfully sad.

“What happened?”

“What?”

“When it was time to leave. What… What happened?”

He sniffed and looked down.

“She got on the train, and I panicked. I told Dixie, and I said that she had pushed herself onto me, that I didn’t want anything to do with her, that I had never promised her anything. She got in a lot of trouble. They nearly turned her into an Avox, but they did go a little easier on her when they realized she was the mayor’s daughter. She got a public whipping. It was the last I saw of her. We got on the train, and they made me sit there and watch her get whipped until she was bleeding so bad she passed out. Dixie told me I should never bring it up again, because she was afraid the Capitol might look more into it. I think she knew… knew what had really happened, what I had really done.”

He was crying freely now, tears streaming down his cheeks, begging with his eyes for her to not hate him, not hate him, not hate him.

It  _ was _ a horrible, terrible thing to do, Lia agreed. To promise her that kind of freedom without meaning it, to turn her in. To deny he had anything to do with it, to watch her take the punishment.

She reached out slowly and brushed his tears away with her thumb. His nostrils flared and he had begun to shake a little. She carefully moved toward him, and he crumpled in her arms with little body-breaking sobs. She raked fingers through his hair and rocked him quietly.

“Do you hate me?” he whispered into the tear-soaked fabric of her shirt. She didn’t answer.

This wasn’t the man she knew. This wasn’t the cool front he put on for the rest of the world, or the bright man with all kinds of plans for her survival. He was young and small in that moment, just like her.

“I didn’t go crazy, you know,” she said, her face buried in his shoulder. He sniffled and took in a rattling breath.

“What?”

“I know everyone thinks I did. Even the judge thought so. I didn’t go crazy, Jim. It was an accident. I was playing outside, and you know how it gets so  _ cold  _ in the winter… My dad had built this… this little playhouse in our backyard, out of spare wood, and Jamie wanted to play in it. She begged me to come out. It was so cold, and she couldn’t stop shivering, but she didn’t want to go back inside. She didn’t want to go back in. I should have made her, but my parents were fighting again, and…”

She paused, drew in a breath. She had never told anyone this story before, but she knew she could trust him. 

“I built a little fire. In between the playhouse and our house. I thought I was being smart because it wasn’t in the house. I didn’t know anything. I used too much gasoline and spilled it near the playhouse. It caught on fire. I sent Jamie in to get our dad. I was panicking. I didn’t know what to do. I found a bottle and tried to put the fire out, but it wasn’t water, it was alcohol. The fire reached the house and I froze up. I couldn’t move, run, scream, do anything, and they were locked inside. I should have gotten help, or tried to help them get out, but I couldn’t  _ move _ , Jim, I couldn’t  _ move. _ I just sat there and watched. Someone called for help eventually, but it was too late. By the time help got there, everything was… was  _ gone _ , just like that. My house, my family, my life. I still had the gasoline and the bottle of matches in my hands when they got there. They asked me what happened, but I didn’t talk for months after that. So... away I went.”

He held her tighter. She didn’t have any tears left to cry over it; it had been so long, and all of her hurt had dulled in all the years she held it in. 

Neither of them let go of the other for a long, long time, but when they did, something in the air had shifted. Lia sat a little closer to him. The city looked a little different. Some things just went like that. They went dark for years, until someone turned the lights back on.

“She’s going to try to kill you,” Jim finally said, after many quiet minutes had passed. “Eri. You, specifically. You were right. I put you in danger when I came to pick you up. She’s seen me care about you now. She thinks that if she hurts you, it’ll hurt me. I don’t know if this whole fake relationship thing was a good idea sometimes. But we’re in too deep now, I guess.”

“I guess so,” she said softly, intertwining their fingers. 

He leaned until he was flat on his back, and silently, unthinkingly, she followed, burrowed herself into his side, soaked in all the quiet, and in her mind, tried to put to rest the aching fire that had been following her for years.


	12. a small piece of seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Looks like we’re both in the dark, huh?” he said.  
“Some fucking team we are.”  
“Some fucking team,” he agreed, and leaned his head back to rest on the wall.

The third day of training had all the tributes nervous, even the Careers, who tried to cover it up with cocky stances and arrogant smirks, but lost all credibility with the fumbling over their words and nervous fidgeting with their hands.

The time had passed all too quickly, it seemed, with all the tributes sent out to prepare for the private sessions with the Gamemakers. Jasper and Lia had spoken earlier and come to an uneasy sort of truce. Though their situation was much less than ideal, Lia had gotten over her initial bitterness toward Jasper, and he’d recognized her skill and thought she might be helpful to have on his side, and so an alliance was formed. They were now seated next to each other, the blonde boy frowning, deep in thought.

“What is it?” Lia finally said. She watched the girl from One saunter the out of the room and tried not to get anxious.

“The Head Gamemaker.”

“What about him?”

“He’s my brother.”

She snapped her head to face him, ready to scold him for joking, but he wasn’t. He was serious, brows furrowed, lost in his own mind.

“What?”

“Sebastian. He went missing years ago. I… We were told he was dead. I don’t know what… I don’t know how…“

“Are you sure it’s him?”

“Yeah. Yeah. It’s definitely him.”

She was just as perplexed as Jasper. She’d been young, at least younger than she was now, but she remembered when Sebastian Moran went missing. There had been search teams for weeks, and they suddenly halted without explanation. No body had ever been found, but he was declared dead.

“How did he make it to the Capitol?”

“I have absolutely no idea. I’m starting to think that someone up there is seriously pissed off at me, though.”

She laughed despite herself. The boy tribute from Ten sent her a glare, and she tried to fix her face into something a bit more solemn.

“What are you going to do in there?” she asked him, lowering her voice so as not to be heard. 

“I don’t really know. Shoot some stuff, I guess. What about you?”

“I figured I’d just run really fast in a bunch of circles until I get dizzy.”

He coughed to cover a small laugh that escaped him. District Eight moved down a bit.

“Looks like we’re both in the dark, huh?” he said.

“Some fucking team we are.”

“Some fucking team,” he agreed, and leaned his head back to rest on the wall.

-

The Training Center looked so much bigger, empty of other tributes and teachers. Just her and a fuckton of weapons. She looked up and saw the Gamemakers seated behind a wall of glass, talking and smiling. One was looking at her with intensity. Blonde hair, blue eyes. He had a striking resemblance to Jasper. And even though she had not seen his face in years, since the missing person posters had been taken down, she knew it was Sebastian Moran.

She turned her attention away from him. He was someone else’s problem for now. She had fifteen minutes to prove what she could do. Jim had told her to go all out. Not to hold anything back. Show them what she could do. She needed a high score, he had said, nothing below an eight. She thought the bar was a little too high, considering he’d gotten a six in his time, but she didn’t dare bring that up.

Lia looked around the room. There were several support beams on the ceiling. She figured they were about twenty feet up. It would be a stretch, but it was high risk, high reward. If she failed, it would hurt very badly, but if she pulled it off, she could land at least a nine for her score.

She took a pole from one of the stations, and chalked her hands, feeling that familiar pounding in her chest, except there was a lot more than a trophy riding on this performance. She smiled a bit to herself. If the pole vault didn’t work out, she could always dance on it and start stripping. That would certainly catch their attention.

“Okay,” she muttered, stretching one last time, checking her hand placement, checking her shoelaces. When there was nothing left to stall with, she took a deep inhale and broke out into a sprint.

She measured her distance and timing carefully and—now, now,  _ now _ —planted the end of the pole into the floor, felt it pull backward, then spring her forward, and she let go, stretched out her arms, thinking for one wild moment that she would not be able to catch hold of the beam, but she felt her fingers wrap around the metal, and she pulled herself up. She took a second to breathe, then swung herself back and forth a couple of times, and swung to the next beam. Like the monkey bars when she was little, only far higher, and with much less padding beneath her.

She made quick work of getting herself across the ceiling to the enclosed box where the Gamemakers sat, looking in awe, a few scribbling notes. She smiled at Sebastian and blew him a kiss. From behind the thick glass, she heard him laugh.

Now there was just the matter of getting herself down. She tried not to think of the floor and all the space between it and her, just let go and braced for the impact.

She managed to catch herself the way she had been taught, once, when she was a girl, and didn’t hurt anything. She was alive, and well, and breathing heavy, heart pounding, all pride and fury.

She took a target and some knives and made a show of throwing them in a line, each less than a quarter of an inch from each other, and when she was dismissed, sprinted just to show that she could.

Jasper, having already gone, was waiting with Ivory, the small girl from Six. He broke off their conversation when he saw Lia approaching, flushed and breathless.

“Well?” he asked.

“I didn’t die with the stupidity of my plan.”

“That’s a bonus.”

“Oh, and by the way,” she said, walking to get water, “I sent my love to your brother.”

-

“Adalia.”

The voice was unfamiliar. She turned her focus from the small length of rope in front of her, where she was practicing knots, to the man standing behind her.

Sebastian Moran.

She blinked a few times, trying to jump start her brain, and Sebastian smiled, pushed his hands in his pockets, shifted to seem smaller, less intimidating.

“That's your name, right? Adalia?”

“Yeah,” she coughed out. “Um, yes. Adalia Shonley. District Seven.”

“You mind if I sit with you?”

She shook her head. The other tributes had all filtered out by this point, but she knew she had at least another five minutes before anyone would come looking for her, so she was taking the time to clear her head.

Instead, Sebastian sat next to her.

“You made quite the impression today.”

“Did I?”

“Indeed. Of course, this is all off the record. I shouldn't be saying any of this to you.”

She set down the rope, turned her eyes up to him.

“You used to live in Seven.”

She watched him cock his head, a small smile playing on his lips.

“You did,” she continued. “You're Jasper’s brother. Everyone thought you died. My parents were part of the search team.”

“And this was before you killed them?” She turned a little pale as he continued to smile at her, this one gone condescending. “Now, sweetheart, the past should stay in the past, right where it belongs.”

He reached out, tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, cupped her face in his hand, his grip just a little too tight.

“Why did you want to talk to me?” she forced out, balling her hands into fists. “Just to tell me I made an impression, and then threaten me?”

“Right on the nose.” He took his hand away, his face stone cold now. “I knew you recognized me. I think Jasper did, too. But here's the thing: my ascension to this position was not an easy road. I cannot begin to express to you the amount of sacrifices I've made to reach this point. And I certainly can't have you, my brother, my sister, or your fake little boyfriend ruining it. Do you understand me?”

“So… So, what? You're saying I keep quiet or you'll make sure I die? You’ll try to hurt Jim?”

“No, no. Of course I'm not saying that. All I'm saying, darling, is that there's always room for human error in these Games. Maybe your plate is more sensitive than the others. Maybe you go before the Games even have a chance to start. Or maybe I make sure you stay alive… keep you just until the end, drag it out, make your little lover boy watch you get ripped apart for weeks on end. All these possibilities… All dependent on  _ you. _ ”

She swallowed, breathing quickly, but Sebastian continued, either unaware of her panic, or just uncaring.

“And of course, secrets get let out all the time, darling. I know that. If this one slips, it’s no big deal compared to what’ll become of your precious Jimmy once the world finds out what he promised Erianna Jackson. Who knows? They might even call that  _ treason _ … do you think he’ll be hanged, or shot?”

Something cold welled up in her chest at the thought of Jim, executed, and his death on her hands, too. Not again. Not again.

“So, let’s be perfectly clear,” Sebastian continued. “You don’t tell anyone. Jasper doesn’t tell anyone. This news never even  _ makes  _ it to Jim, let alone my darling sister. In fact, when you go back upstairs, you tell Jasper he was wrong. That it wasn’t me at all. This secret stays between you and I. If it comes to it, it’ll  _ die  _ with you. If you do well, perhaps I can even give you a bit of help in the arena.”

He stood, holding a hand out to her. Reluctantly, she took it, shaking all the while. He helped her up, smiling sweetly at her once again.

“I don’t think I need to tell you this conversation never happened,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets once more. “You understand everything I said?”

She nodded quickly, looking away, the thought of Jim’s dead body still on her mind. Would everyone say she had killed him, too? Would Sebastian really hold his end of the deal up?

“Let me hear you say it,” he said.

“I understand,” she rasped.

“Good.” He smiled, patted her cheek once more. “I do hope you make it out of the arena, darling. You’re so entertaining to watch.”

He dragged his eyes over her body, smirking at her, and then turned and left.

Gone without a trace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i forgot this story existed... thats on me my bad


End file.
